Addictive (Jeff the Killer)

Malice

Malice

 

Alise trudged through the parking lot, her eyes fixated on the store in front of her. She was far too aware of the hyper-sensitive feeling of eyes on her, and though she fought to keep the adrenaline in check, her steps were a bit quicker than her usual speed. Her eyes flickered around the lot, and she told herself to keep it cool, make it look unassuming. Her gaze landed on a group of thugs leering at her, but immediately she knew that was not the source of her discomfort. She felt agitated, like a street cat backed into a corner by a wolf.

As soon as the cool, processed air of the store whooshed out at her, she stepped through the automatic sliding doors, a sense of relief washing over her. She slowed to her normal gate, walking more confidently than she had been outside. In the store, she felt that with all the eyes and the bright lights and cameras, no one would try to approach her.

She was wrong.

Alise flitted around the candy aisle, tapping her lip subconsciously as she decided between two brands of chocolate. Finally making her decision, she turned swiftly on her heel, and in her glee over her new treat, she slammed into the man behind her. Choosing to ignore him, she didn’t even shoot him a glance as she began to make her way down to the checkout.

Suddenly, she was jerked back, her shoulder jarring painfully into a hard chest. “Isn’t it polite to say you’re sorry when you hit someone?” the voice purred, raw and husky. It sounded strange to her ears, but she shook it off, scowling at the man. His face was mostly covered by a white hoodie, and his lips were curled maliciously into a too-wide grin. She eyed the man’s mouth suspiciously; had the psycho fucking cut it to look like that, like a Chelsea Grin type deal? Alise shrugged, instead trying to jerk her throbbing arm from his grasp. His smile widened when she couldn’t.

“Isn’t it polite to release people who want to be released?” she huffed back, using her free hand to try to pry his fingers away from her upper arm. The skin around the area felt numb, and she could feel her heartbeat prominently in that one spot. Alise doubted any of this was good for her health.

“Ah, whoever said I was polite, kitten?” he purred. He pulled her to him; his body was flush against hers, and she found the close contact… rather uncomfortable. She wiggled for a moment, then brought her knee up roughly to connect with his left hip. The man grunted, fingers loosening long enough for her to slither away. She sprinted to the end of the aisle, out into open view of the cashiers. When she turned back, the man was gone.

Alise refused to let a shiver run down her spine. She could have sworn that he was right behind her, keeping speed with her. Adrenaline pumped hot and heavy in her veins. Forcing the trembling in her hands to subside by clenching them around her chocolate bar, she narrowed her eyes, searching the store for any sign of the psycho.

None.

As she made her way to the checkout counter, she considered asking the buff, tattooed male in front of her to walk her to her car. She thought better of it, shrugging off the feeling of being watched. For some reason, that insane encounter left a raw fear in her that was hard to explain. And that fucking grin…

The cashier looked at her oddly, seeming disoriented by her presence. She raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You look familiar,” the lady shrugged.

“One of those faces,” Alise sighed, handing over her item and given the cashier a ten. Once she paid, she quickly walked out the door, more than ready to get to her car. The thugs were still outside, smoking and laughing about some lewd comment made by what seemed to be the leader. Her muscles tensed, eying them warily as she walked. She hurried to get in her vehicle when she arrived at it, scooting in as soon as she could get the door open. Her eyes flickered about for a while as she slowly drove towards the intersection, wondering if she would see a white hoodie or that crazed grin if she looked hard enough.